


The Ink of Our Hearts

by shipatfirstsight



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post War, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 11:59:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10217549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipatfirstsight/pseuds/shipatfirstsight
Summary: Feyre misses her old tattoo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Michael Biondi quote.

There were many things that Feyre missed while she was at the Spring Court. She missed her mate, her family, her sisters, Valaris at night; she’d stopped keeping track of just how many things she missed from her home. In the few moments she’d had before making her decision, she’d _known_ that there would be a great many things that she would miss. But she’d tried to not focus on those things; tried to think of them instead as the things she was fighting for. She couldn’t let herself really miss the people she loved, because she knew it would consume her if she let it. Distract her from what she had to do.

But now, the war was over and she had back the people she loved, didn’t have to pretend that she hated those same people anymore, and now she has time to focus on the inconsequential things that she still missed.  

She missed her tattoo. It was a comfort, of a sort, to look down at her right hand in her see those familiar swirls, to remember Rhys’ lips tracing over every inch of it when they’d come back from the high priestess who had sworn her in as High Lady. Still, Feyre often found herself looking down at the bare skin of her left hand, tracing over where the eye, _his_ eye, used to rest.

Once, she’d hid that same tattoo. Not ashamed of it, really, but embarrassed by the stares and the talk about it, about Rhys. And it was made from a...a horrible moment of desperation. She’d hated him when he’d given it to her...but it was still a part of their story. A part of her. It had been their start, even if she’d hated him, and she didn’t want to pretend that part of their story hadn’t happened. And she’d gotten used to it, and it was jarring to look down at her hand and just see skin. Looking at that hand, she’d remember the pain of having it removed, cleaved from her, the worse pain of watching her sisters go into that cauldron over and over and over, the desperation that drove her to leave her mate and family to save them. Her tattoo had never reminded her of Under the Mountain. It had just been... Rhys. Or rather, now that she takes the time to try to remember it, there were bits of both Rhys and herself that had been in that tattoo. They were in the one gracing her other hand too but...she still missed it. It was a part of _them_ and she feels like a part of herself is gone without it.

“Feyre,” Rhys says, interrupting her while she’s in the middle of staring down at that blank hand yet again.

Her back is to him, and when she turns, she hides that hand behind her back. He’s quick though, and she sees his eyes follow her every movement.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, striding toward her, concern etched into his face. He lets a hand rest on her waist, soft and comforting, his thumb stroking idly at her back.  

Nothing’s wrong, she knows she should say, and then she should just tell him that she misses her stupid tattoo. But...she wants to tease him just a little bit. So, she bites her lip, and she can feel her eyes dancing as she says, “ _Get away_ ,” the words she said when he came to her cell that night and healed her arm. Rhys starts, his brows knitting together, but then she sees the realization strike him, and he smiles a little.

“ _I come here to offer you help, and you have the nerve to tell me to leave_?” he says, smiling more broadly at the end, putting his free hand on her other hip, drawing her closer to him. “Let me see your arm,” he continues, and she pulls the bare hand out from behind her back. He takes it in both of his hands, fingers tracing over her skin, the palm of her hand. Feyre looks with him, looks as he raises the hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, soft and gentle.

“I miss it,” she blurts, finally, and it’s such a relief to finally say those words. He looks up at her over her hand, kissing it again.

He looks over her hand, considering. Then finally, with another smile, he says, “I’ll make a trade with you.”

“Oh?” she can’t keep the smile off her own face. “What will the trade be?”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, and then the teasing goes out of his eyes, “I think, this time, a tattoo for a tattoo.”

Feyre feels her own brows drawing together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I give you your tattoo back, and you give me one as well.”

“I don’t know how…” she starts, but he smiles.

“I’ll help you,” he promises, and she finds herself nodding in agreement. “Not going to try to bargain this time?”

A laugh bubbles up in her throat at his teasing, at the light in his eyes.

“ _Prick_ ,” she calls him, but there’s no venom behind it, and he’s already gripping her hand more firmly. There’s a quick flash of pain, and then those swirls mark her hand and fingers again, a feline eye in the middle of her palm. And it’s such a relief, that she surges over the small space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him tight to her. Rhys lifts her slightly off the ground, pressing a kiss below her ear.

Through the bond, she can feel how...happy he is. Just to have made her happy. She pulls back from him slightly. “Where do you want your new tattoo?”

“Where do _you_ want it?” is his quick response.

She rolls her eyes at him, letting her feet hit the ground, stepping out of his hold. Her gaze runs over him, considering...she lets her hand rest right over where she can feel his heart. “Here.”

He nods at her, and she tugs his shirt off. Once again, he takes her hand in his, placing it over his heart, keeping his hand over hers. “Picture the image you want, think it into being, and then let the shadows do the work.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Feyre nods, biting her lip again, thinking, thinking...and she smiles as she realizes what tattoo she wants to give him. There’s a blink of light and shadow, a slight bit of pain through the bond, and then...she pulls her hand back to stare at her handiwork. There’s a star emblazoned on his chest and it’s almost exactly like the one she drew on his hand that first Starfall; there’s vines and tendrils surrounding it, like the ones on her arm, and he looks down too, smiling.

“Thank you,” he breathes, a little reverently, and she doesn’t have time to reply before he leans down and kisses her.

“Thank _you_ ,” she gets in between kisses. They’re both smiling against each other’s lips, and...and...for the first time since the war ended she finally feels like it’s over. Like they’ll get this, lots of moments like _this._ Where they can just be happy and together. And where...where she doesn’t have to miss things because she’s home.

“I’m happy,” she tells him, letting his feel just how much through their bond, smiling as she leans down to kiss over his heart, over his new tattoo. She feels his lips pressing against her hair, and she relishes in _this,_ in this time to relax and be happy.

“Well,” he speaks finally, “I _did_ promise to make you as happy as a person could be.”

Feyre knows her skin is glowing a little when he lays her down on their bed, flaring a little brighter as she cups his face in _both_ of her tattooed hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> I never know where to stop things....anyway thanks for reading!


End file.
